


Where Do You Go When You Dream

by msred



Series: Starting Over [26]
Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Chris Evans (actor) - Fandom, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Actors, F/M, Fluff, Long-Distance Relationship, Marriage, Surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 10:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20906198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msred/pseuds/msred
Summary: I was groggy, so very, very groggy, but I heard Millie’s whimpers and felt Dodger jump up to prop his front paws on my side, one landing on my ribs but the other digging into the soft flesh between my last rib and my hipbone. I was so out of it that it didn’t occur to me to be concerned about why the dogs were waking me up in the middle of the night, only a couple hours after the three of us had piled into the king-sized bed together. I just wanted Millie to be quiet and for Dodger to stop tap dancing on my intestines.





	Where Do You Go When You Dream

_ 21 months together, 5 months married (November, Year 3) _

I was groggy, so very,  _ very  _ groggy, but I heard Millie’s whimpers and felt Dodger jump up to prop his front paws on my side, one landing on my ribs but the other digging into the soft flesh between my last rib and my hip bone. I was so out of it that it didn’t occur to me to be concerned about why the dogs were waking me up in the middle of the night, only a couple hours after the three of us had piled into the king-sized bed together. I just wanted Millie to be quiet and for Dodger to stop tap dancing on my intestines.

“Dodge, nooo,” I whined, reaching blindly with my left hand to try to find the scruff of his neck and urge him back down without rolling onto my back or moving my other hand from where it was tucked so comfortably under the pillow.

I was such a disoriented mess, in fact, that Chris’s laugh rang in my ears for a few seconds before it registered to me that he was there. Or that he wasn’t supposed to be. I blinked slowly, my eyelids heavy and my eyes adjusting just in time to watch him settle Dodger back onto the mattress, kissing the top of his head before moving to do the same to Millie.

“Wha - What’re you doing here?” I continued to blink at him, turning my head on the pillow to follow his movement as he stood back upright then squatted in front of me to cross his forearms on the mattress, dropping his chin to rest on top of them.

“Well,” he lifted his right hand from where it had wrapped around his left bicep and used it to brush the hair away from my eyes, “I was planning on surprising my wife, but apparently the airline had different ideas. Didn’t you get my message? Once I realized how late I was going to get home I texted so I wouldn’t scare you coming in.” He ran his fingertips along my hairline then down my jaw, holding my chin between his thumb and forefinger for a second before finally resting his hand back on his other arm.

“Hmm-mm.” I shook my head slowly and pointed in the general direction of where I’d left my phone on the dresser across the room, or that's what I was aiming for at least, then brought my hand to his face and traced over his cheekbone just lightly with the tips of my first two fingers. “You’re home.”

“I am,” he agreed softly, indulgently, a smile in his voice and tugging at the corners of his mouth. “And you’re … drunk?”

I shook my head again and looked at him through half-closed eyes. “I took some NyQuil.” 

So I know NyQuil isn’t exactly a hard drug, but I’ve always been incredibly sensitive to antihistamines. I can take melatonin, or even most sleeping pills, and still be awake hours later with no hope of that changing any time soon. But give me a capful of NyQuil, a Benadryl, or a couple Tylenol PMs, and I'll be practically comatose within an hour. I've been known to do things like unconsciously turn off my alarms for the next morning, and a few different times in my life I've woken up mid-sleepwalk. (By that point, it had happened once since I'd met Chris. The previous Thanksgiving I’d been having major issues with my allergies when he'd come to spend the holiday with me and my chosen family, and he’d woken up in the middle of the night to find himself alone in bed while I re-washed all the dishes I'd used cooking sides and desserts to take to dinner the next day. He told me later that he'd been scared to wake me, but he couldn't stop himself from wrapping his arms around me from behind to pin my hands to my sides when I reached for a knife.) This particular night it had just meant that I'd passed out the second I hit the mattress, without getting under the covers, following my normal 'nesting' routine to get comfortable, or even turning off the bedside lamp. 

I could just see Chris’s brow furrow, little wrinkles forming between those dark, thick eyebrows. “Are you sick?” He moved his hand to my face again, this time flattening his palm and curling his fingers lightly across my forehead before sliding his hand down to cup my cheek.

“No,” I turned to press my face into his palm, “just haven’t been sleeping. And I wanted to sleep tonight because you’re coming home tomorrow. "

He smirked and swiped his thumb over the tip of my nose. "Oh I am, am I?"

"Yeah,” I tried to nod but the movement made my head swim, so I just sighed out a long exhale instead for emphasis. “And I don’t wanna be sleepy. Or grumpy.”

“Nah, just Dopey.” He leaned forward and kissed my nose, still tingling from where he’d brushed it with the pad of his thumb. “Everything okay? Why aren’t you sleeping?” He pushed himself up, his hands sinking into the mattress for leverage, then turned and sat where his arms had been. His hand drifted down the side of my neck and over my shoulder until it rested on my back, where he traced small circles over and over with his fingers through the cotton of the Celtics t-shirt I’d stolen from his drawer.

“Miss you,” I told him. I didn’t look up at him, but instead watched my own hand as it reached for his thigh. I smoothed my whole hand from where it landed high on his thigh all the way down to just above his knee, then began tracing the seam down the outside of his leg with my thumbnail. Up, and down. Up, and down.

He brought his hand up from my shoulder blade to tuck my hair behind my ear, then kept combing his fingers through it, fanning it out behind me on the pillow and comforter. “Are you lonely? Sad?” He didn’t really mean ‘lonely’ or ‘sad.’ Not in the run-of-the-mill way most people would mean them, anyway. He meant ‘Are you anxious? Depressed? Unable to cope with being left alone again so far away from your support system?' He probably even meant, ‘Have you been going to the therapist you found up here?’ I wasn’t, and I had, though at that particular moment our appointments were really just about maintenance. I’d been good, great actually, for a while before he started filming, and we’d both been worried that him having to go away would cause me to backslide, trigger an anxiety attack or maybe even a PTSD reaction, but it really hadn’t. I’d worked really hard on maintaining a sense of being and purpose outside of him, and we’d worked really hard on our communication the whole time he was gone. So yeah, I  _ had _ been somewhat lonely, and even a bit sad, at times, but not in the way he was asking about.

“I’m okay,” I promised, offering him a small smile, and brought up my hand to hook it over his forearm. “It’s just weird to be in this bed all alone. S'big. And I'm not.” And I didn’t think to tell him at the time (I wasn’t thinking clearly about most things at that particular moment), but it had gotten harder to fall asleep the closer it got to him coming home; I was a little kid in December, counting down the days and getting a little more restless with each passing one.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. “Ahhhh, that explains the four-legged back-up.” I only hummed. “Okay, Babygirl,” he chuckled quietly, “I think that NyQuil’s kicking back in. I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight so I don't disturb you and the cavalry.” He reached for my face again, to cup my chin, probably, and started to lean down for a kiss, but my eyes widened so that I must have looked a bit manic, and both of my hands grabbed for his larger one. 

“What? No!”

He smiled sweetly and brought our hands to his lips to kiss my knuckles. “I don’t want to mess up this whole setup you’ve got going here, especially since you really need the sleep." He squeezed my right hand, the one that had landed in his palm as my left one curved over the back of his hand, then attempted to look stern. "But tomorrow night, they’re exiled. I want my bed back. And my wife.”

“No, but," he let me pull his hand down to hug it to my chest when I tugged, "you're here now, you have to stay. Look, I’ll make room." I scooted back, using my body to nudge the dogs farther to Chris's side of the bed. “Ooh! I’ll big spoon  _ you _ this time.”

He drew his eyebrows up and together and licked his lips a little, grinning just slightly. “You will, huh?”

“Mmhmm." I tried my best to pout, though who knows how well it turned out in my sleepy, almost high, state. "Don’t go.”

He broke, laughing a little under his breath. “Okay, sleepy girl.” He pulled his hand from mine, brought it down to squeeze my hip, and stood from the bed. 

“No,” I whined, pushing myself up onto my elbows, “you said you'd stay, where are you going?”

He just shook his head as he started across the room toward the armchair by the window in the corner, where I liked to have my coffee in the mornings while I caught up on news and read in the last 30 minutes or so before bed each night. “Well, unless you want to  _ big spoon me _ in my jeans and sweater, I was gonna get undressed.”

“Oh. Yeah. Do that.” I stayed as I was, propped up on my elbows with my weight supported on my forearms, to watch him disrobe. I’d missed the subtle, intricate ways each muscle in his back moved, shifting against each other and working together as he pulled his sweater over his head. My eyes followed his shoulders, his triceps, the backs of his forearms, his hands, when he dropped the sweater into a soft heap on the seat of the chair. I watched his fingers reach behind his neck to hook over the chain he wore, smoothing it back into place. And I couldn’t take my eyes off him when he reached back in front of him, hands headed for his belt. When the sound of the metal buckle tinkling and the  _ whip  _ of leather through the loops of his jeans nearly echoed through the quiet room, my heart stuttered and my breath caught in my chest. God I’d missed him. That was the one thing in my head that hadn’t been dampened or muddled by the medication. “Just, don’t take off your underwear, okay? If you come to bed naked I’m really going to want to have sex with you, and I won’t be any good right now.”

He laughed, so loud and sudden that Millie’s head shot up and Dodger’s tail thumped on the mattress, probably in anticipation of playtime. I wasn’t nearly as fazed as I probably should have been, or would have been under normal circumstances. His jeans sagged on his hips when he let go of them to brace himself on the arms of the chair as he fell forward, still laughing. That went on for several seconds, and even once he’d mostly quieted and was standing back up to push his jeans down his legs, his shoulders still shook a little here and there. He left his pants in a puddle on the floor and turned to walk back toward the bed.

"Baby, you  _ have  _ to let me get you some pot. If you're this cute on NyQuil, I have _ got _ to see you high. Nothing hard, nothing illegal, you don't even have to smoke.” He knew that was one of the biggest reasons I’d never done it. That, and the fact that I’d been too much of a rule-follower (and a chicken) to try it when I was younger, and by the time it became legal I just felt like I was too old to be doing that for the first time. “We can get you some gummies?” He raised his eyebrows and turned his head a little, looking at me out of the corner of his eye, hopeful and judging his chances of success. “Just once?” His knees hit the foot of the bed and he leaned forward until his fisted hands landed on the mattress. “I need to see that."

"Hmmmm, maybe." My eyes drooped and I lay back on the pillow.

Chris snorted. "I'll take it.” I tilted my head down and watched under heavy eyelids as he climbed onto the bed and knee-walked up to me, one leg on either side of my body. When he’d made it as far as my ribs, he settled his butt back onto his heels and leaned down to brace his arms just above my shoulders, lowering himself into what resembled child’s pose above me and bringing us nose-to-nose. “Hey,” he almost whispered.

I whispered back, "Hi."

"I love you." He brushed the tip of his nose up the side of mine, then back down, and didn't pull back before continuing. "I missed you."

My hands had gone to his knees when he'd settled over me, and I brought them to his cheeks, holding his face between my hands, "I love you back." I sighed, "So fuckin' much."

"You're stealin' my lines, sweet girl."

He curled one hand lightly around the top of my head and slid the other, first finger crooked, under my chin, using his knuckle to tilt my face up to his. I breathed out slowly through my nose when his lips came to mine. He moved them slowly, gently, working my own open as he did but holding back and letting me slide my tongue between our lips and into his mouth. He kissed me like that - gentle and lazy; all the time in the world because he was my  _ husband  _ and I was his  _ wife  _ and he was  _ home  _ \- for several long seconds, maybe a minute or more, then tapered off with a soft peck to my lips, then the corner of my mouth, then my cheek, and finally my jaw, just below my ear. His whole body moved with his kisses until he settled onto his side next to me with his arm laying heavy and solid across my waist. 

I let my left arm fall on top of his when he moved away, but I kept my right hand on his cheek, rubbing my thumb lightly over his skin and letting him trap my hand between him and the pillow as he looked over at me. "Alright, baby, go back to sleep now. We'll sleep in, sleep off the shitty travel day and the NyQuil, then I'll take you to brunch in the morning." He turned his head to kiss the inside of my wrist, leaned over and pressed a kiss to my shoulder, dug his fingers into my hip, then reached to the foot of the bed to cover us both with the quilt I kept folded there. Finally, he rolled over onto his other side and turned out the bedside lamp.

Once he had settled in and made himself comfortable, I slid my arm around Chris’s waist under the blanket, slipping it between his arm where it rested on his side and the dip created where his waist tapered above his hip bones. I knew he was ticklish, not as much as me, but close, so I made sure to flatten my palm against his skin and apply more pressure than my fingertips alone would have. Sometimes I loved coming at him with a sneak attack, sending him into loud, almost violent fits of laughter until he composed himself and used his size and strength to pin me down and do the same to me. Right then, though, I was barely able to stay conscious and I knew he was exhausted; and besides, it just didn’t fit with the tone of the moment: quiet and peaceful and weighted with the sheer relief of being reunited. So I moved my hand slowly and gently, but firmly, careful not to disturb the quiet between us. I went first from his side down to his belly button, then, resisting the small tug low in my stomach that wanted to move southward, I pushed my hand up his stomach, over his abs until it landed on his sternum, right between his pecs. Only then did I let my fingers start to drift, feather light, over his skin and through his hair. I felt his sigh more than I heard it, just picking up the quiet hum at the end, then his hand, that same top one my own hand had skirted past to get to where it was, reached behind him to curl around the back of my knee and hook my leg up over his hip, drawing me tighter against his back. I wasn’t so much spooning him as I was wrapped around him. I loved it. 

I pressed my forehead into the base of his neck and kissed his spine. "Chris."

He slid his hand down just to my calf and kneaded the muscles there. "Yeah, baby?"

"Thank you for coming home. Early,” I added on quickly, as if my muddled brain was actually worried that _ he _ would think that  _ I  _ might have thought he would abandon me in our home and was thanking him for not doing so. He pulled my leg forward a little more, just until my foot hooked fully around his thigh, then moved his hand up to cover mine on his chest. He fitted his fingers between mine and closed them, then lifted both our hands to kiss my palm. He mouthed something there, but I couldn’t make it out, before he lowered my hand back to his chest, bringing it to the left of where I’d originally had it to press against his heart.

"Thank you for making me want to."

**Author's Note:**

> All stories in this collection will be an anthology of connected one-shots that exist within the same universe; and the officially no longer follow chronological order. They may eventually be reorganized into novel-format, but that would be quite a way down the road.


End file.
